


Everything was so sweet

by Pearly_Pornography



Series: Pearly's Preklok Fics [15]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Abuse, Attempted Murder, Drinking, Gen, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 08:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: 'till you tried to kill me





	

**Author's Note:**

> The official break-up of Willy and Magnus.
> 
> ...AKA, Magnus almost kills him.

Everybody was having fun. Laughing, snorting, clink your glasses. Murderface was losing track of time, the speed at which he moved felt fast and yet he couldn't get anywhere. His legs were heavy and he felt sick. He muttered.

"I'm go'n outschide, I f'ink I'm gon' vomit..."

"Alright, don't stay out too lahng."

"I'm fine..." He groaned, hauling onto his wobbling legs and staggering out the door. He felt absolutely terrible. "Nngh." His whole body was unstable as he shuffled out the door, wedging himself into an alley between the bar and the next building over. His hands flattened onto the brick wall as he hunched over, stomach turning as he puked hard into the concrete below. He clutched his belly, trembling and pressing his sweaty forehead to the wall.

"Don't move."

He blinked, each eye independently of the other. 

"Nnngh...?"

He tried to turn around, but suddenly, oh so suddenly, he had his arms pressed against his back and his cheek flattened on the wall. He squirmed. There was no give, no leeway. He whimpered, his eyes squeezing together. "What do y'want...?" Cough. Cough. "Blowjob?"

"I'm not sticking anything in that fucking puke mouth."

"Money?"

"As if you have any."

It sounded familiar. He whined, hands twitching as the knife was brought out, pressed against his neck. 

"Don't," he couldn't muster the fear. He was just too drunk. "don't do that."

"You fucker."

He was weak and drunk and trapped. His shaky, scrawny body was quaking in those hands as he hacked over his shoulder, bile sticking to his favorite jacket. (The one he wore when it rained outside, which it was, of course.) Murderface was turned over, pressed on his back, his chest heaving, the blade drawing down his cheek. A droplet bloomed from the wound, dribbling down his already tear-streaked face.

"Aw. Poor baby."

He coughed. Maybe he knew all along, before Magnus stepped into the mild light from the streets. He just wouldn't admit that he was traumatized, possibly. Wanted to pretend it wasn't him. Regardless, once his wavy, brown hair came into view, he froze up. "I'm giving you what you wanted, ain't I?"

"I can't, don't... guh..."

"You always say the dumbest shit when you're drunk."

"I'm schorry."

"Sorry can't fix it."

It was true. He whimpered, heart thumping in his chest. Oh god, he was going to die, he didn't want to, not like this. The blade pressed against his neck once more, rising once along with his Adam's apple as he swallowed roughly. "I took care of you. I was kind. You ungrateful fucking... twat."

"Pleasch. Don't do thisch."

They locked eyes for a long time. Murderface couldn't, and wouldn't, read his expression. Magnus' brow unwrinkled for just a moment. As much as he struggled, he couldn't get free, and gave up. But there was a lapse in judgement, perhaps. A miscalculation. It must have slipped, there's no way he would have spared him. It wedged into the line of collarbone that drew across his shoulder. Blood dribbled from the fresh wound, the knife slowly digging deeper, Magnus continued with the after-force, powerful, expecting that it would kill him. Even though he missed.

His mouth fell open in a loud, wailing screech. It still hurt, bubbling, and the knife dug deeper. He must have been determined with that follow-through. Tears sputtered from his already-wet eyes, hands shaking violently and lips curled. The door to the bar practically slammed open, and when it was heard, Magnus dashed off as fast as he appeared.

"Willy?!" 

It was Pickles. Murderface was scared to get up -- he didn't know why. His legs had mostly gotten better by now. He clutched the wound, sobbing. Pickles, Nathan and Toki came into view. Toki. The new kid. "Willy, what happened?!"

"Picklesch..." He whimpered, heaving in loud breaths. His shoulder gushed if he so much as moved his right arm. "...I-I... I f'ink I peed myschelf..."

"Oh my- oh my gahd." Pickles put a hand over his mouth. "Yer... yer bleedin'! You got a knife in yer arm! Nate'n! Someone assaulted 'im!"

"Oh fuck." Nathan bent down, staring at the bloody crevice. "The hell happened? Who did this?"

Murderface swallowed.

"I couldn't recognische 'im."

"How long ago did he leave?"

"He'sch gone by now."

"...Fuck, we gotta go home."

"Ams you gon's to be okays?" Toki fussed over the open wound. "It ams lookin's pretty bads."

"I juscht- I juscht came out here to puke, I'm schorry." Murderface buried his eyes in his hands. "I'm schorry thisch happened. I'm schorry." Nathan hoisted him over his shoulder, holding his tiny body in his massive arms, and the four of them journeyed home.

-

The doorbell at the apartment rang at 3 in the morning, waking Skwisgaar from a wonderful dream he was having. He sat up, rubbing his head. The others were back from barhopping. He didn't go along with them. He wasn't in the mood. The door opened, and a wild sight was before him.

The expressions on his bandmates' faces were that of pure exasperation. Murderface was hung over Nathan's shoulder. And his shorts were wet. Of-fucking-course. 

"Skwisgaar, do you have any medical abilities."

Nathan spoke flatly. Skwisgaar rose an eyebrow.

"...Why?"

"Murderface got stabbed."

Setting Murderface down on the sofa, Skwisgaar got a full view of the grisly, deep cut in his clavicle, the knife still wedged inside. "...I heard if you pull the thing out it makes it bleed more." Murderface had tear streaks drawn along his chubby cheeks, fingers pressed deeply into his palms. 

"We gots any alcohols?"

"A' course we do." Pickles reached behind the couch. "Look, half a bottle a' vodka right here."

"Dis ams gon's to horts a bit." He practically ripped the knife out, Murderface grabbing the wound and squeaking. "Just relax." Skwisgaar took the vodka bottle, turning it over onto the bleeding hole. The ensuing screams were enough to make Skwisgaar's head ache. "It's to disinfectant dems wounds."

"Ihhurtsch..." 

"Anyone wants to gets 'im some clean fuckin's pants."

"...'m schorry..."

"Aww, kiddo." Pickles held the bassist's head to his chest, petting his hair. "It's okay, yer okay. We're all here."

"...Burnsch..."

"Hims jammies ams on hims beds." Toki popped his head out from down the hall. Then he tossed a balled-up pair of pants at Nathan, who grunted, passing them over to Murderface. He slowly stood up, clearly inebriated, but capable of walking, and staggered back to his room, whimpering and clutching his arm.

"I wonder who dones it to him."

"Yeh, I wonder."


End file.
